


Alchemy

by Rynfinity



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, Possession, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:04:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1192947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What the Aether wants, the Aether takes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can thank - and by _thank_ I of course mean _curse_ \- YIWT for this one. One of her recent one-shots gave me a bad idea... and I can never leave a bad idea alone.
> 
> The hypothesis at work here? "What if the Aether got from Jane into Thor somehow?"

"Thor?" His brother looms over him, suddenly and without clear reason; there is something about Thor that's _wrong_ somehow and, for the first time in a long, long time, Loki finds himself in genuine fear of his adoptive sibling.

"Thor," he tries again as his brother crowds heavily into his personal space, "are you oka- _UMPHGH!_ " The air in Loki's lungs is forced out in a loud, uncomfortable rush as Thor bodily lifts him by the coat collar and slams him hard against the wall.

"I am fine, Loki. Better than fine." Thor grins. If he’s meaning to reassure, he’s failing; the expression distorting his face - a knowing, evil smirk that promises only suffering - couldn't possibly be any less _Thor-like_. It’s a look Loki’s worn often enough himself to know one thing for absolute certain: whatever this is about, he’s not going to enjoy it.

"Stop it, Thor," he orders, trying to maintain the false illusion of calm control. "I mean it. You're hurting me. Unhand me this inst-." What he intends to say next is lost in a choked-off hiss as Thor's big hand - bigger and stronger than he remembers, which makes no sense at all and can't be possible, can it? - closes around his throat. Blind animal panic takes over and Loki struggles with all he has, fingers clawing first at Thor's hands and then his sneering face.

It's not enough. It should be – always has been – but it isn’t. He’s frankly horrified to find his nails leaving no mark, his strikes not even the faintest bruise. What the fuck is happening?!

_Focus. You cannot save yourself by acting thus._ Loki forces himself past his own rising terror. _Think. You can beat this, you can. Just relex,_ he tells himself. And sure enough, it works; as his own flailing ceases and he hangs limp in Thor's grasp, the awful chokehold eases slightly. Thor makes no move to free him, no, but does at least stop trying to _kill_ him. For now.

"What in the Nine is going on," Loki manages to force out, his voice barely more than a raspy whisper.

"Nothing, _brother._ I have simply tired of your attitude."

_My attitude._ Loki tries to laugh; it's more of a squawk. "And so you intend to choke it out of me?" Now? After all these many years?”

Something odd passes quickly over Thor's face. He closes his eyes and, when he opens them, he seems much more the brother Loki knows (and wishes he didn't love, especially at times like this. At _a_ time like this, rather; this is entirely new – apparently there truly is a first time for everything). "Of course not,” Thor scoffs. “I just wanted to get your attention."

"Congratulations, Thor. You have indeed succeeded in capturing it," Loki rasps. "Now, will you _please_ put me down?" This time it works - Loki nearly falls as Thor releases him abruptly. "Thank you," he offers as he carefully sidles away; he desperately needs to put some space between them. "You wanted my attention," he reminds from halfway across the room as he rubs his own neck ruefully; from the feeling, it's going to sport quite the handprint. "What was it you needed?"

What happens next may be the oddest part of their encounter so far. Thor, unnatural expression and mannerisms all but gone now, shakes his head as if to clear the lingering cobwebs. "I- I do not know. I do- i cannot recall." He looks almost comically confused - under most other circumstances Loki would be hard-put not to laugh. Just now, though, it's markedly more concerning than it is amusing.

"How typical," he grumbles, trying desperately to cover his own rising worry. And then coughs; his throat _hurts_.

"Sorry." Thor looks at the floor, face hidden below a curtain of messy blond hair. Far from looking fiercely dangerous – or cunningly evil – now, he’s simply _deflated;_ a willful, naughty child in dire need of a comforting hug.

Loki finds he’s not quite up to hugging his brother just yet, no matter how pouty and sad Thor may be. That bit notwithstanding, he can certainly meet Thor halfway; he walks quietly back over to his brother and reaches out to clasp a muscular shoulder-

-and has only the quick spread of inky black across Thor's bright blue eyes as anything remotely approaching forewarning.

It's not nearly warning enough. Loki jerks away, too late and too slowly; Thor's fingers close hard and immoveable, like the powerful jaws of a mechanical trap, around his wrist.

"It seems you were right after all, brother," Thor taunts, twisting Loki's arm back and wrenching it - painfully, so much so that Loki teeters high on the balls of both feet without even meaning to - way up between his shoulder blades. "It _is indeed_ surprisingly easy to achieve one's own ends via trickery. Even against you, Loki; the very master of such sport himself," Thor sneers, giving the throbbing wrist a savage yank.

The pain itself notwithstanding, Thor’s unkind words are far more frightening than anything that's come before. This is not Thor’s way. Loki feels abruptly nauseated as a dizzying surge of adrenaline courses through his system. He fights to stay in control, stretching as far as he can to ease the strain in his shoulder, and manages (barely) to say nothing.

Something has taken hold of Thor.

Something malicious and dangerous, at least from Loki’s perspective.

Having not long ago watched the Aether invade Thor’s weak little mortal - the Lady Jane Foster - Loki can hazard a fair guess as to what this particular _something_ might be, too. Perhaps it jumped from a creature of lesser power to one of greater, he thinks, sweat trickling cold down his back. And then once it was there… Thor surely has the power the Aether craves, but not the right nature to wield it.

Thor’s nature is not like Loki’s, after all.

"Brother," he says carefully, "you are not well. Let go of me; I can help you."

Thor laughs, a harsh bark Loki can feel all the way up his own arm. "You surely can – indeed, you can and will - but rest assured there will be no letting go of you involved." And then, evidently eager to prove his point, Thor shoves Loki forward roughly. It’s walk - tiptoe frantically, really - or lose the use of an arm, so Loki walks.

They dance across Loki’s chambers thus, Thor pressuring and Loki skittering like some sort of demented woodland creature, until they run out of room. Loki can see what’s coming – he makes one last failed attempt to jerk free and then his hipbones smash full-force into the edge of his reading table. The pain is enough to half-stun him; when Thor sweeps the books aside and drives Loki down onto the tabletop, he collapses – all the fight knocked out of him - with little more than an anguished whimper.

There is barely time to catch a gasping breath. "Stop, Thor," he once again tries to protest – far more weakly, this time - as his brother, one unnaturally-strong fist at once twisting his arm and crushing his ribcage into the table, uses the other hand to shred Loki's leggings. "You do not want this, I assure you. Please," he outright begs, but it is all to no avail: Not even bothering to grace his plea with a reply, Thor wastes neither time nor courtesy splitting Loki wide open.

It hurts terribly. It must hurt both of them, really; Loki is clamped down in pain and terror and Thor evidently cannot be bothered to use even as little as saliva to ease his own passage. Like everything else just now, though, Thor seems oblivious to his own discomfort; he pistons away like a machine, slamming Loki into the table's edge until he’s sure something must be broken.

Even in his present state, he knows there's no point in fighting such unrelenting strength. Loki does his best to relax, letting Thor's thrusts force his breath out in ragged grunts. Nothing lasts forever, after all; not even one of Thor's erections.

At least, one never has before. At this point, Loki supposes all bets are off.

He is no stranger to being put over tables and fucked hard, far less often willingly than otherwise. He knows the drill; relax, lie still, take it, and try not to cry when the bastard pulls out. Enjoyable it's not, but he's suffered far worse.

Until now.

Fortunately enough, this fucking seems to be no exception. While it feels like an eternity, in reality it's just a couple of short minutes before Thor's rhythm falters and he comes with an ear-splitting roar.

Loki has a bare fraction of a second to think, with great relief, that it’s over… and then the real nightmare begins.

Because what comes spurting out of Thor is not just a few hot drops of spend. And it doesn't just spurt, really; it pours. It gushes out of Thor and into Loki like a stream of boiling oil.

The whole thing is beyond impossible. Even Thor is writhing in agony now, his anguished screams drowning out Loki's. It isn't until the second red tendril rushes past his face - the first one, Loki can’t be sure he's not hallucinating - that he truly realizes what's happening.

Sure enough: The Aether is yet again abandoning a host of lesser power, of lesser utility, for one of greater.

But in the process of so doing it may fucking kill them both.

Its initial connection forged, very nearly literally, the Aether streams out of Thor and into Loki via every pathway it can find. Or make. Thin, needle-and-thread wisps invade his pores. Thick ropes arc in front of him, twisting together into throbbing red tentacles as thick as his forearm. They narrow to fingertip width and burrow their way into his mouth, his nose, his ears, his eyes, choking him and blinding him and falling just short of tearing him apart.

The thing rips out of Thor and into him with a hideous glut of power that's like nothing he has ever felt - it guts him, shreds his skin, rips muscle from tendon, ligament from bone.

And then, just as abruptly as it started, it's over. From the sound of it Thor staggers back and collapses; Loki himself slides off the table, boneless, and wilts in a sodden heap on the floor. When the darkness takes him, it's an incredible relief.

~

"Loki? Loki!"

_His name. He hears his name, but his ruined body is in tatters; there's no way he can hope to respond. Something brushes his arm, his side, his hip; he screams in pain, agony doubled as his raw throat spasms._

"Gods, what have I done to you, brother? I am so, _so_ sorry. I do- I do not understand."

_The voice is familiar. Thor_.

But before he even try to answer, Loki slips back into welcoming darkness again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, my nasty weirdness went and found itself a plot.

When Loki surfaces again he feels... better. Different. _Powerful._ He sits up, blinking and rubbing his eyes, and cautiously takes stock. His leggings are in tatters around his calves. _Oh, right, Thor._ The attack feels old, like something that happened a long time ago.

He reaches a hand out to pull his clothing together as best he can – to stop his pants from effectively hobbling him, at least, so he can safely stand - and freezes. His fingers are... silvery. Not Jotun blue but _silvery,_ \- silver-grey, really - the way his brother's old armor looks when it's discarded in a messy heap in the back of the armory and allowed to tarnish.

Loki holds first one hand and then the other at arm's length, rotating them back-to-palm and back again. It's the oddest thing - his hands look like nothing so much as a golem's hands, carefully crafted, shaped from burnished metal. He looks down, more fascinated than fearful; sure enough, his bare knees look much the same. He inspects himself more thoroughly... silver-grey forearms, calves, thighs; even the flaccid cock curling against the angle of his hip wears the same burnished finish.

Loki lifts the hem of his tunic, twisting out of the way of his leather coat, and prods one silvery hipbone experimentally with equally-silvery fingers. The awful pain he remembers clear as day is completely gone, as is any sign of bruising. His hip, inguinal region, and lower abdomen are one smooth, even, muscular swath of silver-grey. _Interesting._ He looks like an animated statue, in a good way, if he may say so himself.

"Thor," he asks the brother-shaped object slumped in the corner with its head in its hands – hmm, his throat feels better, too; entirely normal, really - "what time is it?"

"Loki!" Thor leaps up and hastens to Loki’s side, squatting to touch his shoulder, and then gasps. "What- what has happened to you?"

" _What have I done to you_ , you mean," Loki corrects. He's actually feeling- _amused_ is probably the most accurate description, but he makes himself sound scornful. Angry. Wronged. Thor can't just walk away from this sort of thing unscathed. "You filled me with the Aether, idiot. But, before you grovel," he adds as Thor's face falls, "answer my question. What. Time. Is. It?" He enunciates clearly, like he often does when he's considering ripping his brother's head clean off. He isn't, but he's going to milk this for all it's worth.

_Some_ of what it's worth, anyway.

"Um. It is nearly supper. Listen, Loki - I did not mean-."

"Save your sentiment for someone who cares, _brother,_ " Loki cuts in. "It seems we have wasted more than enough time already." He has, they have; he's been asleep for hours, and probably Thor just the same, with Malekith still at large and Asgard still hanging in the balance. Whereas before he was just an accessory to whatever idiotic plot Thor might devise, now he is the means to the end himself. He is both the bait _and_ the set trap. He can end this.

And time is a'wasting.

Loki gives up on his pants and rips what’s left of them free of his silvery ankles. There's hardly any point in false modesty now and he’s _strong;_ even without casting he's able to tear the leather away like so much delicate lace. He curls neatly up and stands, letting Thor get a good eyeful of his _latest conquest_ , before finally turning to inspect himself in the large looking-glass alongside the wardrobe.

He looks like a _machine_. Like art. Like something those mortals would construct, and then worship. His eyes are startlingly green against his silver-grey skin. It’s a good look. Loki grins at his own reflection, then winks. He could have an awful lot of fun with this. Make a lifetime of people pay for a lifetime of sins; he's not big on _forgive and forget,_ after all, and why should he be, really?

Still. Malekith killed Frigga. Loki sighs. He just can't let that stand.

He blanks his expression as Thor comes up behind him, hesitant. Tentative. Fearful. "You-."

"Shut it, Thor. We will deal with this," - Loki gestures from one to the other of them in the mirror - "with _us_ , later. And rest assured, we _will_ deal with it," he snarls, just because he can. In reality they will be lucky to live out the week... and the less he thinks about what happened between them earlier, the better. "Right now, we need a new plan."

" _What?_ "

Loki rolls his eyes and turns to face Thor. "Seriously, did you manage to fuck yourself stupid?" He shakes his head mock-sadly. "A plan. To defeat Malekith. Name not ringing a bell? He's the _would-be-conqueror who killed mother._ "

Thor winces. "I know full-well who he is, Loki," he says quietly. "But I will not have you putting yourself in harm's way."

"Excuse me?"

"I will not-," Thor starts in, patiently.

"I got that bit," Loki snipes. "What I missed was the part where someone died and left you in charge." He sighs again, loudly. "Really, brother, we do not have time to bicker. Malekith is ever drawn to the Aether; he will come to us. We need only devise a way to crush him. And Thor? Congratulations. You no longer need to risk your precious mortal." He smirks. "But you may not want to tell her exactly why that is so."

~

There is still a ridiculous amount of arguing to get through, it seems, but eventually they manage to settle enough of their differences. For now. They wind up down in the pub with Heimdall and Thor's _charming friends,_ trying to enlist the team’s help in the games to come. Thor has to tell the Aether story four or five times before Sif, especially, is willing to accept that this whole thing isn't merely one of Loki's stunts.

"And it got from you to him _how,_ exactly," she asks after what feels like the umpteenth retelling. Her expression is unattractively skeptical, something for which Loki can’t in good conscience blame her.

"I lured him close and he unwittingly touched my arm," Thor repeats. From the edge in his voice, even his usually-unshakeable patience is wearing thin. Loki tries to look pleasantly interested; the Aether is making him edgy, filling him with a sense of _necessity,_ and it's getting increasingly difficult to act normal. Even what passes for normal in the world of Loki is becoming a challenge.

"And it just hopped from you to him?" Sif's tone is scornful.

"Something like that," Loki offers. The whole topic clearly makes Thor very uncomfortable, which would under other circumstances be highly entertaining. Now, they simply don't have time. That and, the way he's starting to feel, Loki can a little too easily see how the whole attack business might have happened to start with... and that makes it harder to enjoy mocking his brother. "I realize this is hard for you to comprehend, Sif, but there really is," he continues over Thor's hissed _Loki!_ "no hoax at work here. I, through no choice of my own," - _just look at me,_ he thinks, frustrated by her misguided fucking loyalty; _can you honestly look at me, really look at me, and still tell me we are faking?_ \- "am naught but the Aether's vessel. If we work together, I swear to you; we can end this. For once and for all."

Sif's eyes narrow. "And how do _we_ know you will not turn on us?"

"You don't." _I don't._ "But Malekith will be coming for me either way. If you think you have a better plan, I assure you I am all ears." Loki smiles nastily.

It's Heimdall, perhaps unsurprisingly - while the Guardian has graciously said nothing, it's not unlikely he knows exactly how the Aether made its choice of hosts manifest - who finally comes to their defense. "Loki is right. We know Malekith is coming. We need to spend what little time is left to us preparing." He looks at each of them, gold eyes wide and expression earnest. "It is not an ideal option, no, but it is the option we have available to us and we should make of it what we can."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moar plot. Look at this sucker go!

Jane stares at him, open-mouthed. "I- I don't understand."

"Thor passed me the Aether by fucking me," Loki repeats brightly. "We did not tell the others, but I am sure _Mr. Sensitive_ here," - he indicates Thor with a jerk of the head - "thinks you would appreciate knowing." This whole discussion is surprisingly entertaining, really; a nice diversion from planning for impending doom. "I am using the correct word for the act, am I not?" He makes a helpful illustrative gesture.

"Just- stop. Stop talking, Loki, please. And stop with the-...." She makes a complicated shooing movement towards his fingers, swaying slightly, then steadies herself against the table with one hand and rubs her eyes with thumb and first two fingers of the other. "I- I need a moment. I'm sorry."

Loki studiously inspects his glossy charcoal-grey fingernails. Well, and avoids making eye contact with Thor, who has clearly reconsidered the whole _I suppose maybe it would be best to tell Jane_ bit and who equally-clearly wants to kill him. _Good luck with that, brother_ , he thinks to himself. He feels no remorse for this whatsoever - not only did he not _ask_ to take on the Aether, but he absolutely did not in any way volunteer for having a babysitter escorting him to and fro. That last was Thor's idea, through and through, which is the only reason Loki has joined Thor in Jane's chambers to begin with.

Loki smiles pleasantly at nothing in particular and waits quietly for something to happen. Humming a little tune would probably be taking things at least one long step too far, even though he is for once definitively the victim and not the instigator here.

Jane lets out a long, slow breath, still rubbing her eyes absently. "Thor," she starts at last; her voice sounds pinched. Strained. "Is Loki telling the truth?"

"Um. Well. Yes and no." _Yes and NO? This should be good,_ Loki thinks with growing annoyance. "I mean- I did not-."

Loki abruptly cannot stand it anymore. "Oh, I must beg to differ. You most certainly _DID_ -!"

"Shut up, Loki. Just- just shut the fuck up," Thor barks. "What I am trying to say," he carefully addresses Jane in a more normal tone, "is that I did not intend for it to happen. I did not _want_ it to happen. The Aether took possession of me."

She takes a deep breath, and then another. "So this isn't a regular thing."

"Oh gods no," Thor replies with clear feeling. "I would not- he is my brother."

"Adopted," Loki chimes in.

"Loki," Jane and Thor snap, in unison.

"Got it, got it." He holds up his pretty, silvery hands in supplication. And then stops to admire them; if he makes it out the other side of this alive, being pale (or - ugh - blue) again is going to take some getting used to.

Thor gives the whole speech another try. "Loki is indeed telling the truth. It was not something I ever wanted to happen, but it did, and I am terribly sorry."

Jane waves his apology off with clear mounting irritation. "So you're telling me the Aether drove your actions - which I do believe, I do; remember, it got me first and I know how hosting it feels - and yet you expect me to believe your brother can control it... and will act responsibly? Thor, he doesn't act responsibly when he's _not_ harboring evil alien powers."

This one is too smart for Thor; Loki _likes_ that about her, even if she is presently talking about him as though he is not even here. "If I may," he asks nicely.

Jane sighs again, the loudest one yet. She is clearly _not_ happy. Poor Thor. Poor, poor, _dear_ Thor. "Go ahead, Loki, as long as whatever you're about to say has nothing to do with" - she winces - " _fucking._ Because I- I just don't want to think about that."

"Trust me, you are far from alone in feeling that way," Loki agrees with considerable enthusiasm. The enthusiasm itself is sincere, even if his reasons and Jane's are perhaps entirely different. "And, no, what I wanted to add has nothing to do with-" - he pauses for emphasis - "that particular subject. I just wanted to point out that the Aether has already taken hold of me. Malekith will come for me, as surely as he was coming for you. Whether or not I can be trusted is a bit irrelevant at this point. I can plot with the team, or I can plot alone. There is no third course of action."

"We could kill you," Jane corrects, but there is little heat in her delivery. "That's a third course of action. But I do see your point. I was _kidding,_ " she stresses as Thor shifts to hover protectively over Loki's shoulder.

"It is fine, brother." Loki pats Thor's hand, as reassuringly as possible. Personally, he strongly suspects the Aether would prevent them from killing him just now anyway... but pointing that out will do nothing to help win Jane's cooperation. "I know she is teasing. I take no offense." He smiles sweetly at Jane, who turns away with a little hiss and walks over to look out the window.

"So, what is your plan," she asks at last, her back still to the room. She sounds defeated. Loki almost feels bad for her. Almost, surely, but not quite. He did just quite literally take it up the ass for her - for all of humanity and beyond - after all. If it weren't for the much-appreciated boost the Aether has apparently given his body's own self-restorative capacity, he would be sitting very, very carefully indeed.

For another long, long moment no one says a thing. Loki takes advantage of Jane's turned back to prod Thor; she'll take this better from her personal god, after all.

Thor clears his throat, louder than necessary. "We are going to lure Malekith here and then- well, we hope to capture him, but we are prepared to kill him if we must."

"Lure him here," Jane repeats quietly.

"That would be me," Loki adds, spreading his arms _ta da_ -style. "Bait."

"I see. And Odin is allowing this?"

"We thought it best not to inform him," Thor explains.

Jane spins back to face them, locking eyes with Loki. "And would _that_ be you, too?" Her voice is stone-cold.

"No, actually," he starts in a bit sharply, but Thor silences him with a quick gesture.

"It has never been our intent - before Loki was even involved, or I for that matter - to include Odin in our plans. He wants us to send the Aether away, and Malekith with it. He claims it is too risky to bring war here." From the tone of his voice, Thor is clearly warming to this particular topic. "But my council - my closest comrades, one and all - agrees; it is best to take Malekith on here and now, with the full strength of Asgard's forces."

Jane nods, expression speculative. "Mm. If you send the Aether away, you lose control over both the location of the battle and the amount of time Malekith has to prepare. I see your point."

Loki silently wills his brother NOT to mention that it was actually _his_ point and not Thor's at all. While he does hate to see credit given where it is not the least bit due, Thor is winning her over. This is what they need. _Just nod and agree, brother. Bask in your false glory,_ he can't help but add, inside his own head.

Thor wisely and fortunately says nothing. Jane studies each of them closely in turn. "And by your council - I assume you mean Sif and the Warriors Three?"

"And Heimdall," Loki adds, not quite remembering in time that he's letting Thor do all this particular talking.

Jane nods. "Right. What do you need me to do?"

"There may be not a role in this for you. I just wanted to be sure you knew-..."

"-what everyone was sneaking around about," Loki finishes, before Thor can slide back into the black, sucking depths of _confession_.

"Um, yeah, well- thanks," she says flatly. "And now if you will excuse me, I have some things I need to do."

~

"He did not just _touch your arm,_ did he." Hogun doesn't deliver it like it’s a question, which Loki actually appreciates – for real - but it does beg for an answer just the same… especially considering they're hotly debating how exactly they will manage to incapacitate Malekith in that instant where the Aether begins leaving Loki but has not yet cleaved fast to its favorite of all hosts.

Even that last little bit represents a significant concession on Loki's part - it _burns_ him to think the Aether might find a more-beloved host elsewhere. It takes both Heimdall _and_ Volstagg reminding him - together and separately - that it is about true cohesiveness of purpose and not solely raw power before Loki will even consider backing down. They are likely right - Malekith's goal of an eternal return to an equally eternal darkness is much more specific to the Aether's own aims than is Loki's more nebulous desire of _only ever wanting to be Thor's equal_ \- but the whole thing offends him terribly just the same.

Since it ends up being quite some time before he's willing to concede the latter, he knows it would be smartest not to drag things out about the former. "You surmise correctly, Hogun," he says, shrugging Thor's - Restraining? Comforting? Possessing? - hand off his own shoulder. "There was considerably more- intimate contact than that. I would ask that you not press for details, though, as I for one am not in the mood to relive it and it will only sicken the rest of-" (he almost says _our,_ but they’re not his, of course) "your party. If you doubt me, I suspect you need only ask Heimdall's corroboration." He gives Heimdall a small go-ahead nod.

"Prince Loki is correct. On both counts, I might add. Now let us get back on track before Malekith arrives among us."

~

Ultimately, with Frigga dead and Odin _best kept out of this,_ the most they can legitimately do is speculate. As ancient rumor would have it, the mighty king of the Dark Elves can call the Aether forth from one and all at will, which – as Loki hastens to agree - would best for everyone: Quick, easy, and with the best odds of a cleanly-presented target.

It's Plan B that is considerably muddier. Based in its recent trajectory, the Aether clearly chooses the most personally-useful of its hosts (and, yes, when the situation is put to him that way Loki is marginally willing not to argue further). It does not, however, seem ready or able to pass via casual contact. It wasted no time leaving Thor for Loki, true, but it would be hard to imagine contact _less_ casual than theirs had been. Whereas Thor and Jane had held hands, exchanged chaste kisses, and hugged so often as to have it all aptly be deemed _regularly_... but to no avail.

And yet Thor swears there was no _impropriety_ between him and his possessed little mortal female; neither a tongue in the mouth nor so much as a single finger in the-... _LOKI,_ Thor had exclaimed in righteous horror as Loki had tried to tick clinically down a mental list of the various options.

And absolutely no unclothed hanky-panky of any kind.

"So," Loki finally asks, fighting hard to keep at least some small portion of what is quickly blossoming into complete and total exasperation out of his voice, "do tell: What exactly _were_ you doing just before you found yourself- Aetherated?"

Thor stares fixedly into his flagon. "Sleeping."

It's too ridiculous to consider. "You were _sleeping? Together,_ I assume?"

Thor's face is flushed flaming pink. "Yes, Loki. Sleeping. Side by side. And in none of the obscene figurative ways you are doubtless implying."

"And, what? You woke up possessed, and she woke up well-rested?" Loki loses the battle to stay in control, snorting like a happy pig. "Seriously, Thor?"

"Leave it, Loki. Yes, I woke from a strange nightmare to find myself consumed with a clear purpose-."

_Oh, no, Thor. No no no!_

"-which was basically this: To signal Malekith.” - _Oh, thank the Norns and their withered old tits!_ \- "To call him hence." Thor looks up at Loki, face perchance the reddest it has ever been. "I fought it down as best I could. When I felt my resolve slipping, I- well, I came to you, brother, intending to ask you for assistance."

Loki doesn’t even try to resist; he smirks outright. "I'm having a hard time recalling the _asking,_ brother dear."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malekith comes for what is his.

"So what actually _is_ your alternate plan," Thor asks - voice a little shaky with concern - as soon as they're free of the others. Free, such as it is, to go back to their quarters and rest up for the fight that undoubtedly lies ahead

Except Loki's quarters are still littered with the wreckage of Thor's earlier _carnal prowess_. Loki isn’t sure he can deal with the mess just now... that, and he knows it would be unwise to waste even the smallest bit of power wiping the evidence away. With the Aether inside him he is by turns both stronger and weaker; at its purest essence the thing is a terrible parasite. Loki knows he is going to need everything he has later; consequently it would be most unwise to be taking any unnecessary chances.

It’s okay, though - they're talking. About the battle to come, about their plans. It's the perfect excuse to follow Thor to _his_ chambers instead. "I am not quite sure, honestly," Loki responds, turning to look over at Thor with a wry little smile. "Hopefully I will not have to go the route you took." He smiles more broadly. "You got the better part of the bargain, if I may say so myself. Me - Malekith," he adds, mock-weighing the choices with upturned palms, after Thor's face settles into a puzzled frown.

"Um." Thor adjusts his clothing, looking tense and awkward. "I would really rather not consider it in quite that way but, yes, I suppose I did."

Loki knows he shouldn't - he _knows_ it, without question - but in the end curiosity wins out yet again over good, sound judgment. "So, apologies, but I cannot resist... was all of that simply the Aether taking what it wanted, or did a tiny seed exist already?"

Thor stops abruptly, leaving Loki backpedaling. "Loki," he starts, his voice rough.

"Too vague? I just meant-."

"No," Thor cuts him off. "I know precisely what you meant. I must implore you: Let us not speak of this. Not now, of all times."

_No need, brother - you have just given me your answer, plain as day,_ Loki thinks, instead simply saying "As you wish, then: My back-up plan. My plan is to let things play out as they must, whilst hoping all the while you and your posse will act promptly and decisively when the time comes."

Thor nods, starting forward once again. "The window of opportunity will be small, I agree, but I assure you we will be ready and able to take advantage thereof."

Loki hurries to catch up; he really wants to read Thor's expression for this one: "And if destroying the Aether means killing me, you will let your team do it?"

Warring emotions - anger, frustration, sadness, something warm and loving - twist Thor's features. "I- I will not see it come to that."

"But if it does," Loki pushes, "I must have your promise you will do the necessary."

Thor swallows loudly. "It will not come to that, I assure you. Will not, cannot. But, yes... though it hurts me to give it, you do have my word. Please, Loki,” – his voice wavers - “do not let it come to that. Never let it come to that."

"Oh, that I assure you; I will try my very best not to!" This last, Loki can deliver with absolute honesty. He is _not_ in the mood to die just now.

At the doors to Thor's chambers they come to a halt. Despite the many thousands of times they've crossed this very threshold together, this particular crossing feels- weighty. Uncomfortable. "Do you wish to be alone this night, brother," Loki asks, even though he himself would far rather spend the time together. Tonight may well be their last night in the land of the living and he will not deprive Thor of this one final choice.

"No," his brother all but shouts. "No, please, I would have you stay," he adds far more softly. "I mean, if you will."

The mood in the room could sorely do with a bit of lightening. "Are you sure, Thor? I mean, what if the Aether changes its mind?" He laughs quietly, to making his intentions - just teasing, he is, and gently at that - plain.

Thor manages a small smile as well. "If it does? Then I will take my punishment. Seriously, stay." 

~

As the night wears on it becomes painfully clear Loki will not be sleeping. He starts out sprawled lazily across a comfortable oversized chair by the fire, wrapped in furs, taking every precaution in fear of what might happen were he to join Thor on the huge bed while this far under the Aether's control. Almost as soon as Thor is asleep, though, Loki is up and pacing... driven by a burning need he cannot even name.

The Aether _wants,_ his body _wants_. He gets that. But as he runs down a mental list of those activities which normally lead to some semblance of satiety - eating, drinking, sparring, casting, wreaking havoc, fucking (or even bringing himself off under his own hand) - nothing appeals. Really, more than anything, he just wants to go stand in the still-wrecked portico where the dark elves’ ship had crashed a few days ago.

Which, when he thinks on it further - and he does; it's a long night, with a lot of pacing - is almost certainly a sign. A warning.

Near dawn, the faintest light just edging the horizon, this particular compulsion is joined by a new one: to go to the ruined hallway _alone._ It's at that point Loki rouses Thor; things are getting chancy; it’s best to act while he’s sure he still can. "I am having trouble thinking clearly, brother," he explains as he shakes Thor lightly.

Thor nods, awake near-instantly like the battle-hardened warrior prince he is - the princes they both are, truth be told - curses hotly under his breath. "We must wake the others. Before we go, tell me - do you need to be bound?"

The thought is utterly repellant, so much so that, sadly, the only tenable option is to reply "yes, I think that would be wisest. And Thor? Do not free me if I ask it of you.” Everything feels distorted. Poisoned. Wrong. “I fear I am myself no longer."

Thor snickers. "Clearly." But something in Loki's face must sober him. "I am sorry, brother. It is not the time for humor, I see. Here, let us get this done."

The heavy cuffs lock smoothly into place with an oily _snick._ As Thor leans close to fasten the metal collar, Loki digs deep for what very little is left of himself and twists up to kiss his brother full on the lips. He holds the kiss just too long to pass for _proper_ , then backs away before either of them can do anything stupid. "Never doubt that I love you," he says earnestly. "If this- if this is my end, promise me that; that you will never doubt my love."

He looks down at his bound hands, trying to hide the welling tears, but Thor hooks his chin and gently forces eye contact. "I promise. And while we have had our many bitter differences, brother, always know that I love you as well.” Thor takes a deep breath. “But this will not be your end; I will hear no more such talk. Now," he adds firmly, a strong hand at Loki's elbow, "we must wake our comrades and heed- your summons."

~

When at last it begins, it is nothing like Loki expected. The elven ships are cloaked against Heimdall's sight, that they all knew, but nothing crashes into the hall. There is no explosion, no army. Instead Malekith stands calmly on the pitted walkway, accompanied only by the bulky man-beast from the dungeon. "Interesting," the king says, looking Thor and Loki up and down and up again. "I am not surprised to see my Aether has tired of your puny mortal, Thor, but Loki? Loki possessed; that I did not foresee." His expression goes sly. "How did this come to be, I wonder," he continues, though it's clear from his expression that he's not wondering in the least. "And Thor. Thor, Thor. I would have believed you above such sick and twisted things. Then again, the _sons of Odin Allfather_ are not truly brothers, I suppose."

Thor is verily _seething;_ Loki can even feel it from here, at the far opposite end of the heavy chains. But right this moment the state of Thor’s temper is the very, very least of his concerns. No, just now he is utterly consumed by the Aether's desire. And the Aether desires to return to its true lord and master, at any cost and by any means.

Loki stumbles forward, mouth hungrily open, slowed only slightly by the rune-rimmed shackles hobbling his booted ankles. In the end it matters not; Malekith lunges towards him with a low, throaty moan. His lips close on Loki's in a bruising kiss, a kiss Loki eagerly returns-

-but, surprisingly, that's it; that’s all it is. It's a kiss like none Loki has felt before, sure – Malekith’s mouth is alien but warm and insistent, tasting faintly of wine and chocolate and ash; it’s good, and Loki _likes_ it, and he could do this all day without half trying - but it is ultimately nothing more than a kiss. Still, he needs this like he needs air and he’ll take any scraps he can get. His eyes drift closed. After so much frantic energy, this feels wonderfully peaceful. In the background he hears voices – Thor and his team – but none of it matters. Nothing but this matters.

Before anything close to enough kissing has happened, though, Malekith stiffens and pulls away slightly. Loki opens his eyes, all agitated confusion, and finds himself caught out; there is barely even time to recognize the hot burst of seidr gathering in Malekith’s hands before its force shatters chains and shackles alike.

And just like that, any last thing approaching rational thought is utterly gone. A huge surge of _need_ rushes through Loki; freed of his bindings, he hurls himself onto Malekith with easily ten times the elven king's own earlier force. As their mouths lock together Loki’s world explodes into incredible pleasure and indescribable agony, all hopelessly tangled together. Time stops. The universe stops. His heart stops. 

Out of nowhere a blinding flash sears into him, followed nearly-instantly by a realm-shaking concussive _BOOM_.

As he spirals down and away, fast leaving consciousness far behind, the last thing he hears is a raw, wet voice screaming _LOKI_...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath, Loki tries to get himself sorted.

_Pain._

_Pain pain pain._

"-seems to be coming around-..."

"-like he is in a lot of pain."

_Pain. Yes, pain. So, so much pain._

"-get more from the apothecary, will you?"

_PAIN!_

_Oh gods oh gods oh gods terrible, excruciating pain._

"Shh. You need to lie still."

 _Lie. Still._ The words are muffled, but the instructions themselves he can understand. He does his best to obey, but probably fails miserably; Loki has no sense of where the pain stops and he begins.

"Oh, good, I think he can actually hear me."

He tries to say something, to agree, but can't. His throat feels scalded. Raw. Gutted. One more bit of awful pain in a heaving sea of _awful pain._

"Shh, no, do not try to speak. No, please. Please, Prince Loki - you truly need to lie still."

 _Prince Loki._ He is in Asgard, then? Loki tries to open his eyes, to do something. Anything.

A giant wave of pain leaves him choking, and choking is utter agony.

"Here you go." A different muffled voice, close by.

"Oh, thank you! He is in far too much pain to be awake just yet."

The sharp prick of the needle prick barely registers.  
~

"-looks better today."

"-progress, slowly but surely."

“-truly amazing.”

The voices are clearer, and louder. Loki swallows, or tries to; he's completely parched, drier than the driest Midgard desert, but the horrible pain in his throat is nigh on gone. He tries to speak.

"Shh. No, no - do not try to use your voice. You may yet speak again soon enough, it seems, but not today."

Maybe he moves? Loki isn't sure, but there's something cool on his forehead and it feels _so nice_.

"Oh, look, he likes that.” He can hear the excitement in her voice. “Can you open your eyes for us?"

She sounds nice. Friendly. Helpful. Caring. All sorts of things he seldom merits. Loki tries to obey; the world gets a little brighter, but he otherwise isn't sure his eyes are even open. He can't see anything... just a uniform, dim haze. He should be afraid, but he can’t manage it somehow.

"Good, good." This voice sounds male. "Just like that. My, you are pretty. Can you see a little light? Nod, just a little - no talking just yet. I can see you want to; I am sorry."

 _Nod._ He can do that. Nodding is simple. These people are so nice, and the pain is effectively gone. It's such a relief; he could cry.

Maybe he does cry.

"Good! And can you look towards my voice? Over here, good, good."

Loki thinks he does. Dimly, way in the back of his fuzzy mind, he feels like he should be _wondering_ something. Before he can focus on the idea - can wonder what he should be wondering, though, and perhaps explore it further - the male voice is back.

"We are going to give you another dose to help you sleep."

He should probably mind. He probably should protest.

He doesn't, and doesn’t.

~

"Open your eyes. Good, good. Nod if there seems to be any change."

There is; there is! Loki nods, decisively. He can't tell what exactly he sees, true, but he sees something. Light and dark. Colors. Moving shapes.

"Shapes," he tries to say. His voice is a distorted squawk.

" _Shapes,_ he says," his cheerleader explains to someone. "Come over here! He is talking."

"Are you in pain?" The female voice again, sounding worried.

Loki thinks. He isn't in pain. It's miraculous. Incredible. "No," Loki says, and it's a recognizable word! Rough, like someone has taken a grater to his vocal cords, but recognizable just the same. "Where-," he tries, hoping it's enough.

"You are with the royal healers. Do you understand?"

Loki nods. And then it comes to him. "Thor," he squawks. He can't get out the rest. And just like that tears are streaming down his face.

"Shh. Please, do not weep. Thor is fine, Prince Loki, do not worry. He is just not allowed to be with you here until you are better. He was too-" - she pauses, evidently searching for the right thing to say; the diplomatic choice - "too disruptive."

Loki laughs. It sounds like he's dying, but - after a brief pause - the healers laugh with him.

Another prick of the needle.

"What-?" He desperately wishes he could manage more than a word at a time. At this rate, he thinks as the drowsiness settles around him like a warm blanket, he will need an age to finish one thought.

"You were severely injured, sir." _Sir? No one calls the lesser son sir._ "You are much improved, but you have quite the long way to-."

~

He can see! Sun streams in from small windows he knows are set high in the thick, terraced walls. The female healer is middle-aged, with soft grey curls tied neatly back from an open, friendly face; the male healer has thick reddish hair and the brightest blue eyes Loki has seen since- "Thor?"

It's a clearly-recognizable word, on the very first try, and the healers respond without hesitation. "Soon, sir," the woman says. "He asks about you many times a day."

"Was he hurt," Loki asks, and all of his words are proper words. He feels less fogged, more himself.

"Just a few scrapes and bruises, all since healed. He is fine," she says. "Just worried."

"I can see you both," Loki points out smugly, like it's a great achievement.

"Yes, you are making tremendous progress. We are very proud of you."

He- he needs to know what happened. Something happened... it's just beyond the reach of his straining mind and he _needs to know._ "Please," he tries. "I need to talk to Thor."

~

"Loki! Brother! Oh gods, Loki, I have been so wor-."

"Prince Thor! Please! Loki is still quite unwell. I must insist that you treat him with appropriate gentleness and care," the healer chastises as Thor envelops Loki in a hug that truly threatens to crush him where he lies.

"Sorry. Of course. Sorry!" Thor positions Loki carefully back among the soft pillows. "Oh gods, Loki. I am so happy to see you awake. I- gods, I truly thought we had lost you this time." Thor stops, wiping his own eyes roughly with the back of a big, calloused hand before bending to - carefully, carefully - plant a gentle, proper, brotherly kiss upon Loki's brow.

At the touch of Thor's lips, it all comes back in a dizzying rush - the business in his chambers, the Aether, Malekith. Loki has so many questions; they’re all tangled up together and he can't even hope to get even the least of them out. Still, he can try. "What happened? The Aether? Did we-," at which point Loki's voice suddenly gives out and he succumbs to a coughing fit.

"Prince Thor," the male healer reminds, "Please remember: If you agitate our patient, I will have to ask you to leave."

~

Thor's hand is warm where it rests atop Loki's own. "You are awake, brother. Good, good." The voice covers him like warm honey; warm oil. It's utterly lovely, and he wants it to go on forever.

"Tell me what happened," he whispers, and it's an actual whisper this time.

"What- what do you remember," Thor asks him. Soft lips brush Loki's ear and his body lights up in ways he's forgotten existed.

"Far more than you are hoping, I am sure." Loki laughs, and it sounds nearly like actual laughter for a change. "I remember the Aether, yes, and Malekith's arrival. Right up until... an explosion? Something of that nature. I am not- not certain."

"And do you remember-?" Thor sounds... jealous. _Interesting._ That can only mean he’s asking about-.

"Yes, I remember kissing Malekith. Clearly. He has - had? - considerable skill in that arena," Loki half-teases, "although you are undoubtedly nicer." He smiles, relieved to see Thor break into a grin in return. "Most of the time, at least. Speaking of Malekith, is he- did we- did we stop him?"

"He is imprisoned," Thor hastens to confirm. Loki carefully keeps the quick burst of relief that shoots through him - _not dead, then!_ \- to himself. He’s not sure what to make of it, and this is neither the time nor the place to think all of it through more thoroughly.

"And the Aether?"

"The Aether is back in containment, brother." Thor squeezes his fingers. "You are a hero, you know."

 _A hero._ Now _that_ really is funny, funny like nothing has managed to be in a long, long time. Loki hazards a real, all-out laugh; it sounds rough and rusty, but there still isn't any pain to speak of. He lets himself laugh again, more and more, until he manages to come across to even his own ears as wholly and completely unhinged.

He probably _is_ unhinged. This time he even has an excuse for it, too, one that no one will have the least right to judge or chastise. Still, there is no reason to make an ass of himself. He stops abruptly, panting a little; laughing is a lot of work after so much- so much nothing.

When he can breathe easily again, he wets his lips and asks "how long have I been here?" He remembers very little of his time with the healers - just much pain and some struggle and quite a bit of hazy, blurry nothingness.

Thor clears his throat. "Two months, give or take. Perhaps a little more," he amends over top of Loki's sharp, startled inhale.

 _Two months?!_ What the _fuck_ has he been _doing?_

"There was a lot of damage," Thor explains, and it’s almost as if he can read Loki's fractured thoughts. "For a long while it was touch-and-go... we truly thought there was little hope we would not lose you."

"We?"

"The healers. Our friends," - _your friends_ , Loki means to interject but Thor doesn't pause long enough to allow him - "Jane Foster. The palace guards. Countless well-wishers."

Ah. The usual glaring omission: "But not Odin."

Thor rubs his own face – slowly, not gently - with both hands, then takes a couple of long, deep breaths. "Father is- he has entered into the Odinsleep. Seeing you lying here unconscious, hurt so very badly- it- it must have been too much for him. That, on top of mother... the attacks... everything. His collapse was quite sudden, not unlike- well, what you told me of the last time. Not more than a handful of days after you were struck down in battle, it happened – consequently, I had little time to speak with him beforehand."

 _Struck down in battle_ \- how dramatic. Loki frowns, angry with himself for yet again being so _needy_. "But he did not leave his post to see to my condition?" In battle behaving thus would be the proper and expected actions of a warrior king, which Loki – trained as a warrior king-to-be himself – knows full-well. His stupid fragile feelings manage to end up disgustingly out-of-kilter over it just the same.

"What? _No,_ Loki." Thor squeezes his hand to the point of discomfort, evidently too wound-up to notice. "He was here constantly. He never left your side, even when the healers insisted everyone do so. It was here that he slipped into slumber; right here on this very bench."

It's just too heavy to bear. So he doesn’t. "Well, then… perhaps you should not rest your ass there, brother, lest it claim you as well." And then he _giggles_. A princely, heroic giggle, but a giggle just the same.

Thor visibly struggles to stick to the stern, disapproving expression propriety demands. Struggles and fails, breaking out the broadest imaginable grin. "Oh, it is _good_ to have you back, Loki."

It's good to be back, Loki thinks.

He keeps it to himself, though. He _is_ still Loki, after all. A little pain and a little flattery, even in combination, are by no means enough to change that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Thor get both everywhere and nowhere. Because they never really do talk things out very well, do they?

“So, let me get this straight. You do not want to ascend the throne, not even temporarily, while fa- while Odin is out of commission; instead you want to go back to Midgard and _hang out,_ as you put it, with Jane Foster?” Loki knows his ears are working properly, but he just can’t get his head around this. The abrupt change of direction is giving him mental whiplash.

“Yes, Loki, that is my intention in a nutshell. After all that has transpired, I- I do not think I am cut out to rule after all. You are much better suited to it than I ever was.”

“Except for the part about how the Allfather hates me and would cheerfully see me locked away for all eternity,” Loki adds brightly. “You know, that one little oversight.”

The two of them are having this discussion – it’s hovering right on the edge of an argument but hasn’t quite managed to find its way there yet – over the remains of breakfast. They’re on Thor’s balcony; Loki has been reinstalled in his own quarters, now that’s he’s been deemed healthy enough to go about life without the constant presence of a small handful of overly-concerned healers, but he doesn’t really feel safe and settled there yet. He’s certainly not up to entertaining, not while he still feels like he’s going to wake from this new reality to find himself in a cell somewhere.

He tells himself it’s that irrational fear, whenever the unsafe feeling hits, and not anything to do with what happened the last time Thor visited him in his quarters. Thor and the Aether, of course; Thor sans Aether loves Jane Foster. Wants only to be with Jane Foster.

Jane Foster who, having done a turn with the Aether herself, _totally gets_ why Thor might have up and fucked his brother. Thor always inspires (doesn’t merit, often, but still inspires) such annoying devotion.

Loki laughs quietly. It seems everyone else got to have fun with the Aether, utterly sans consequences, whereas he just went and nearly got himself killed. How typical.

“-does not hate you. He is not going to see it that way and you know it.”

Oops, Thor is talking. “I’m sorry, brother,” Loki starts out, even though he really isn’t, “I was lost in thought. Would you mind repeating that?”

From the look on his face, it’s immediately apparent Thor _does_ mind. “I do not think you are taking this seriously, brother.”

Huh? Okay, this is where the conversation always becomes a fight. Except Loki is rather bored with fighting just now, and he doesn’t really have the stamina for it yet anyway. “It’s not that,” he says carefully, trying to defuse the situation. “I just- I find I am not entirely comfortable with the idea of your leaving the Realm Eternal entirely, with me at the helm, before Odin awakens.” He shrugs, still relieved to be able to do so without pain. 

“ _You_ may think he has changed his view of me – and, of course, you may be right - but _I_ , for my part, think it a dangerous assumption. If the Allfather wakes up feeling otherwise, your _darling brother_ will be little more than a smear on the floor” – Loki gestures; perhaps a little over-dramatically, sure, but sometimes drama is all that gets the point across when it comes to dealing with Thor – “before you and your hammer can even hope to have made it to my rescue.” All in all it’s a little too much talking; he clears his throat and sits carefully on the closest bench, trying hard to hide a wince.

Trying hard but failing, from the look on Thor’s face. “Loki! Do not overtax yourself,” he chastises, sounding a lot more like Frigga than he has even half a right to. “You are still recovering. And rest assured I have no plans to leave you here alone until you are fully yourself again. So,” Thor continues, settling far less carefully – outright flopping, really - onto the bench opposite, “you can stop it with your jealously now.”

_Jealously?_ Loki laughs again, loudly this time, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he does so. “Jealousy? Of what, your mortal pet? That is a rather funny accusation coming from one so put out by how his _brother_ spoke favorably of a certain Malekith’s enviable skill at kissing.”

_And there it all is, out in the open._

Thor bristles. “You _know_ that is not what bothered me about-...”

“What?” Loki inclines his head, trying his best to look sweetly innocent. He waits false-patiently for Thor to continue – _let’s see how he fails to dig himself out this time_ \- but his brother just shakes his golden head.

“You will not snare me in that particular trap of yours, brother. Not again. I- the Aether showed me what it _feels like_ to be you, and you can no longer fool me.”

Loki smiles. Nods diplomatically. Personally, he rather doubts that, but it’s probably not a bad thing for Thor to believe. Even so, he can’t risk rubbing Thor’s face in the whole situation a little more; just a little. “Speaking of Malekith, have you been down to the dungeon to confer with him? Or do you not trust yourself around-.”

“So funny, you are,” Thor interrupts. He’s smiling, but from the look on his face it’s paining him mightly to do so. Good. “Actually, yes, I have spoken with him, as has Heimdall.” Thor pauses, expression once again serious. “We opted to have him moved into solitary confinement, as he was disturbing the other prisoners. He carries a powerful, longstanding hatred with him; it has consumed him, and I know not what recourse – what options – we may have left against him. And Loki,” Thor asks as Loki’s mind yet again starts to wander, “I will not have you conversing with him. Not until you are fully recovered, and perhaps not even then.”

Oh, the irony. “Do you even listen to what comes out of your mouth when you speak, Thor?” These are fighting words, sure, and Loki is really not up to fighting… but he just cannot let this go. “In one breath you tell me you want to leave me here to rule Asgard because you _are not cut out for it_ and _wish to spend what time Jane Foster has together,_ and in the next,” – he smiles, certain it’s all teeth – “you are telling me which prisoners I will and will not see. Make up your mind, will you? Before you speak, ideally.”

Thor’s color rises and for a long moment Loki thinks his brother may hit him, convalescence notwithstanding. In the end, though, Thor just lets out a long, loud breath. “You are right, brother,” he admits. “It seems I need to think this through more carefully.”

Loki relaxes a little. “And while you are doing that – and I _never_ thought I would hear myself say this – I will honestly hope Odin awakens.”

Thor raises his golden water goblet in toast. “To Asgard.”

Loki knocks his own heavy metal goblet against Thor’s, flinching slightly at the resultant loud ringing. “To me.”

Thor laughs, but Loki manages to catch a glimpse of his brother’s – fleeting, yes, but - horrified expression just the same. It’s good to see that – no matter what else changes – some things simply endure.


End file.
